Writing My Life; Trusting My Self….

Tag Archives: Jeremiah

Today, Bee‘spromptis Siblings. I am a sibling, and the mother of siblings. I could, and have, said a great deal on this subject. So, for today, I’m going to stick mostly with images of two happy children who live with me. They live a life far more peaceful and connected than my siblings and I share, even as adults. They’re friends, in a way that’s not often depicted in entertainment media, especially between male and female siblings. Without further ado, I present, with love, a bit of our family life, throughout the early lives of its younger members.

Itty Bitty Sibs in Matching Duds!

Silliness by the tree!

Cozy Coupe Collision!

Toddler Tenderness!

Peekaboo Pair!

Choreography and Connection – oh, and in inflatable yellow dolphin named Echo.

Hi there! Can you believe we’re nearly at the halfway point of January?

I’ll admit, when I decided to do this jotting thing, after an intense two months of marathon novel drafting, I really didn’t know how many words I’d be able to come up with, or what I’d write about – or who would even find it interesting, for that matter! Linda’s ten-day prompts have been extremely helpful, because a few minutes of brainstorming gives me a list of topics that my subconscious (which is very active!) can play with while I go about the business of living and doing the other stuff that entails…

Okay, so today’s post is supposed to delve that mysterious threeteen and fiveteen – but, once again, I appear to have subtracted all the coffee from my cup, so, if you;ll excuse me for just a few minutes, I’ll go take care of a simple addition process, and tend my fire, because it’s c-c-cold in this part of the world today!

I’m back – didja miss me?! There’s a cozy fire snapping in the wood-stove, and a fresh hot cuppa beside me – so no reason not to dig into today’s subject, right?

When my son was about 3, and learning to count, he objected strenuously to the words ‘thirteen’ and ‘fifteen’. He insisted that they ought to be ‘threeteen’ and ‘fiveteen’, instead – and he had a point. Eleven and twelve never bothered him – my guess is that they were too far from their ones-plus-tens state -but he was so adverse to thirteen and fifteen that, when he counted, he just skipped straight over those two numbers, so that his version ran, “eleven twelve fourteen sixteen… “and so on.

At the same time, he was very interested in jigsaw puzzles, and spent considerable time working them.

Egg-samining a different type of puzzle, but at about the right age.

One day, after solving a puzzle and pulling it apart again, he combined his puzzle love with his new counting skill, and decided to count all the pieces in his puzzle.

His total was 27 pieces. He then asked me to count them; my answer was 25.

He counted again, and so did I, with the same results.

The third time he counted, I realized what had gone wrong.

I showed him the puzzle box, which said there were 25 pieces in his puzzle. Then we counted together – and, when we got to ‘threeteen’ and ‘fiveteen’, he refused them, and so we skipped them, and got 27.

So we counted again, and I said, “Let’s do it my way, this time,” and we counted all the numbers. Yup. 25 pieces, exactly.

Maybe it’s in moments like this that mathematical concepts get absorbed. It certainly clicked for him, in that instant. He could see, for the first time, that it mattered whether he counted all the numbers, if he wanted to know how many of something he had. And, maybe more importantly, he could see WHY.

He had skipped two numbers, and his total was off by two numbers!

From that point onward, he always counted his ‘threeteens’ and ‘fiveteens’ – yes, those names lingered for several more months, until he reconciled himself to the illogic of their proper ones.

Today, that little boy is a strapping ‘threeteen’ year old – as big as me, and with a deeper, almost-man’s voice. Long gone are the days of refusing to count numbers, or doing 25 piece puzzles on the kitchen table.

Yesterday, we were exploring the quadratic formula together. But all the mathematical concepts he’s learned since that day of the 27-piece puzzle have hinged on that moment of first truly understanding that numbers are tools, and how to use them.

Do you remember when numbers began to make sense to you? To your children? Do you have a story to share? We’d love to hear it!

I’m not sure about where you live, but here in upstate New York, the “Black Friday” push started over a week before Thanksgiving…way too early for us, even with a generous dose of snow to beautify Wednesday, and give a Christmasy feel to things. I’m not a fan of the rush to buy, buy, buy, and I tend to balk when marketers try to get me to do it on their schedule. Coercion isn’t big in my world…

Glad you asked! It’s a simple idea, really. Here’s what August has to say about it:

Many of our friends and most of our relatives live thousands of miles away. *cue Beatles music* So in lieu of a conventional housewarming party, we’re asking our family and friends—including you!—to join us virtually in an act-of-kindness celebration. We’ve chosen Black Friday, a day on which it’s easy to get caught up in or disgruntled by commercialism, figuring we could all use some added cheer.

♥ Check out others’ posts by searching for the hashtag on the 28th—sharing, liking/favoriting and commenting on your favorites.

♥ Pop back to my blog the following week where I’ll share highlights and give away prizes for the most creative, impactful and entertaining acts!

See? Simple, sparkly, and powerful!

We decided to make an event of a donation to Toys for Tots, with Jeremiah and Annalise each choosing a nice gift that would add a little sparkle to another child’s Christmas of Hanukkah.

Below, in images and captions, is our happy foray into a seldom-explored realm for our family- a big toy store on Black Friday. I was not only thrilled to see the consideration the kids put into the gifts, but the happy way they interacted with others along the way. It’s also interesting to me to see the way their approach to toy stores has changed, since they were little…and that led to the realization that, in what might seem like the blink of an eye, to me, toy stores aren’t going to hold nearly the same allure for either of them.

But today, these growing-up kids gave me a #SparkleFriday, and now we all want to share it with you!

A bit of exploration and debate…

Jeremiah chooses a physics-oriented gift…

Annalise chooses some scary fashion!

Anonymous Donor?

#SparkleFriday is for sharing, and scaring!

A little #SparkleFriday in our cart….

A Helpful #SparkleFriday Spirit.

A double shot of generosity…

Giving with her whole self!

#SparkleFriday grin!

I hope you enjoyed watching this as much as we did living it!

If you missed #SparkleFriday, why not commit an act of kindness today, tomorrow- or anytime? You’ll add a little more of this to the world!

When I was six, myfamilywas driving on a highway late at night. Streaks of headlights and taillights painted the dark. For the first time, I realized that each car held people living lives as important to them as mine was to me.

I wanted to know what those lives were, and to share my own..

Yes, I’m getting to this a little late in the day. It’s been a little odd today – normally, my Accomplice in Mischief, who is a chef, has Monday off. But today he worked a local food festival, and, for the first time, our 13 year old son went as his assistant. I’m also experiencing the distraction of having written over 10,000 words of my NaNoWriMo novel in a single day – a personal best for me!

So, I’m a little out of sync…but I’m hear, making this post while watching Castleand contemplating the next scenes of my novel. But I am here, and I’m inviting you to come along with the children and I as we visit the New York State Museum, in Albany. Originally, I was going to share the entire visit – but, well, this is our favorite museum, and we make the most of every visit. Today, we’re just going to walk from the parking lot next door, around the corner, in the door, and as far as the rest rooms…I promise, future walks will carry us into the museum proper, to explore…as a matter of fact, I’ve got many photos, from many trips, so we can go back again, and again, and…

Oh, look. There’s a parking space. Let’s pull in here, gather up our stuff, and get ready to see how much fun we can have with two unschooling kids and their mom, just walking in to the museum…

It was a lovely October day, and a pleasant, familiar walk…

Sometimes, you’ve just got to cozy up with a shale wall….and give it a nice snuggly hug.

The thirteen year old in my life makes me work for photos…

Okay, we’ve seen some wall-hugging and camera-dodging, and now we’re ready to continue on, through the parking area and around the corner. While the kids lead the way, I’ll snap a few pictures of the trees, with the first hints of fall color touching their leaves, the museum against a gorgeous early fall sky, and the skyline beyond the Empire State Plaza.

And now we round the corner, and the museum is just ahead. But…

That’s apparently the perfect time to hug your brother – whether he especially wants you to, or not…

Of course, when your sister is your friend, you sometimes go along with these spontaneous public displays of affection.

And then, with walls and siblings and Mom (not pictured) feeling happily hugged, we arrive at the entrance – yup, a bona-fide revolving door which beckons us in…well, eventually. I mean, this IS a revolving door, and what would be the fun of not taking an extra spin or two….?

And now we’re inside, thinking about what to see first….take a look around the lobby, and feel free to offer your suggestions…we’ll be right back, after a quick visit to the rest room, which, after its recent remodeling, looks a little like a modern train car, to me…

I’m not going to say a lot to introduce this piece; it and the images do the job more than well enough.

It’s fall here in upstate New York, and the crispness of the air, the mown down cornfields, the smell of woodfires, occasionally gunshots from the hunters, the sudden whining insistence of chain saws, endless election ads – nearly all of them negative and leaning toward unpleasantness -, the carunking of the Canada geese as they fly by on their way south…all say winter is on its way.

Oh, and apples!

Yes, I said apples.

I know that Washington State is the place most people think about when they think about apples, but we here in New York have plenty of apples, and an abundance of orchards to choose from. When the kids were little, we went every year, but, as the kids got a little older, somehow, we stopped finding the time for this particular adventure.

But this year, it turned cool early, and the kids and I decided we’d go. On Thursday, I heard a weather report that said we’d get rain on Saturday, and it would be hard enough and windy enough to knock the leaves from the branches –

And we hadn’t gotten out to apple-pick yet, or taken any drives out to just peep at the leaves – now, I understand that if you’re from certain parts of the world, that might not make a lot of sense, but it’s a big enough thing here that Amtrak has added dome observation cars to its route into the Adirondacks, to facilitate people’s peeping experiences.

Saratoga Apples, Schuylerville, NY

So we decided that we’d go to an apple orchard on Friday, and enjoy the beautiful early fall weather, some exercise out in nature, and treasure-hunting to find the perfect treats – apples!

Annalise wasn’t sure she wanted to go – she’s like that, sometimes, with things she’s not used to. I told her she was free to stay home; she’s old enough now to stay home alone, if we’re not too far away. But she decided to come, and, after we’d looked around a bit in the farm stand, scoping out the veggies and fruits and apple cider donuts, we bounced out into the sunshine, beneath a still-pale half moon hanging low over us, adding a bit of magic. We ambled and walked through the rows, each with our own bag, in which to place our own treasures. We laughed and I took pictures, and we picked apples, wandering here and there through the rows of trees – each offering its own unique bounty.

There were maps available, but we didn’t take one. Instead, we just let inspiration and the prevailing opinion guide us, picked apples without knowing their names, and happily filled our bags with our found treasures before making our slow way back, burdened with our delicious loads, stopping to rest when we needed to, and for Annalise to climb a pile of woodchips with a built in valley, so that she could jump from side to side while I tried to capture the moment of flight.

We finished in the farm stand, where I treated myself to an African woven basket with handles- I’ve wanted one for a decade or more, and it was wonderful to find one I loved while I had money enough to pay for it. We bought donuts and cider, brussels sprouts on the stalk, carrots and a huge red pepper, plums and Concord grapes and blueberries and honey straws and dried cranberries and chips and a big chunk of dark Belgian chocolate…I took more pictures, and Annalise did, too…

And then we went home, along the country roads with their blaze of color in the fading sun and brightening moon, my basket and our bags, filled with our found treasures, riding with us in our Subaru wagon. I stopped down the road, at my parents’ home, so that the kids could bring them each a donut and an apple.

But those aren’t all we found on our short adventure. We found something far more precious, far more rare. Something that becomes a larger treasure as the days pass, as my children grow up.

We found time. Time to be with each other, to enjoy and laugh and chat and explore and celebrate.

The apples will be sweet – but the time is the truest delight of this beautiful autumn afternoon. It will glow within us while the rain comes down, and we’ll be snug within it.

What have you found lately? Was it tangible, like apples, or more like the laughter, the sunshine, the moments of just being that warm your soul?

Enjoystream-of consciousness writing? Anyone can play, so long as they are willing to follow a few simple rules. See you next week, for another live-streaming look into the lovely chaos in my mind! =)

When I was six, myfamilywas driving on a highway late at night. Streaks of headlights and taillights painted the dark. For the first time, I realized that each car held people living lives as important to them as mine was to me.

I wanted to know what those lives were, and to share my own..

“All teenagers rebel, at least a little.” – This was written by a family member of mine, when my oldest child was eight years old, as though it was a fact everyone knew, to be accepted without question.

But is it a fact?

My oldest will be thirteen tomorrow. Is it a foregone conclusion that he’s going to rebel, now that his adolescence is at hand? Will he morph into someone with an entirely different personality than he’s had up till now?

I don’t think so. Why not? Well, let’s take a look at the word ‘rebellion’, as defined by Google.

re·bel·lion

riˈbelyən

noun

an act of violent or open resistance to an established government or ruler.

In order for the action of rebellion to occur, there has to be an opposing force to act against. In this definition, ‘established government’, ‘ruler’, ‘authority’, ‘control’, or ‘convention’ are the opposing forces.

Eight year old future rebel?

Those things aren’t part of our family dynamic.

My Accomplice in Mischief and I aren’t fond of using our parental authority as a tool or a weapon – we reserve it to use when we truly need it, and, the rest of the time, we live in our home as four equals. When disagreements crop up, adult views don’t supersede younger ones. That’s our convention; and there’s nothing to rebel against in a convention that guarantees him equal footing and due consideration.

As he enters his teenage years, Jeremiah is in control of his own life. He knows that:

His parents are on his side, willing to do what we can to help him to fulfill his wishes and his purposes.

He can make mistakes without fear of being punished. As he’s growing up, the slings and arrows of life will inflict enough damage, without us adding to it.

He can talk with us, ask us questions, state his wishes, and have them respected. That’s why he doesn’t appear as often as his sister on this blog- he’s a more private individual, and part of respecting that is honoring his desire to keep most aspects of his life personal, rather than having me expose them to anyone who comes here to read.

When he wants new freedoms, he can ask us. His requests are considered, and usually granted, because he tends toward being very aware of his own limits, and seldom asks for freedoms he doesn’t feel ready for.

We don’t say no, without offering something he can hang onto or work toward. When we don’t allow something,which isn’t commonplace, we are prepared to explain why, discuss options, or what might need to change first.

With these as the conditions of his life, rebellion would be a waste of energy!

Planning a subversive campaign, or hanging with friends at the lake? You decide!

I think teenage rebellion is something of a boogeyman, and often has more to do with parental attitudes than with the behavior of adolescents biologically geared toward gaining independence and adult status. As in many other aspects of life, point-of-view and purpose can define an interaction. If life is black-and-white, with the demand of adherence to parental rule, any deviation from that is an uprising that must be suppressed (but is likely to surge up again, in some other conflict). Eventually, suppression will fail, because teenagers do become adults, beyond their parents’ ability to legally control.

Our purpose is different. We accept that our children will be adults, and we don’t think that rules and punishments are the most effective way to help them get to that point well-equipped to function in the adult world. We’d rather give them as high a degree of autonomy as possible, so that they can learn, piece by piece, choice by choice, interaction by interaction, how to manage the matter of living.

What some might term rebellion, because they are focused on controlling their older children, I see as an opportunity to help my kids build conflict resolution skills that will serve them for the rest of their lives.Conflicts can be resolved without an escalation of tensions only so long as everyone involved is willing to listen to the others, and to negotiate a mutually agreeable solution. I can’t expect my children to develop that ability if I’m not practicing it myself; so it falls to me to be willing to hear my children’s perspectives and be open to them.

When life is engaging, and teens aren’t being forced to simply carry out parental choices with little regard for their own, there’s no need to rebel, and nothing to rebel against. There’s simply life – with all its successes and failures, contentions and resolutions, growth and learning, grace and missteps.

And isn’t that enough for anyone?

What do you think? Are teens fated to rebel, even in a family whose objective is to support them as they pursue their goals? Is my family headed for even more lovely chaos, or utter disaster? There’ll be birthday cake here, later, and a variety of beverages. Won’t you stop be and enliven the conversation?

When I was six, my familywas driving on a highway late at night. Streaks of headlights and taillights painted the dark. For the first time, I realized that each car held people living lives as important to them as mine was to me.

I wanted to know what those lives were, and to share my own...

What happened when I stopped treating my children as projects to be completed, but instead as whole people, already?

Too often, in modern American culture, children are seen as projects. Maybe it comes from an illusion, carried over from times past, that babies are blank slates, empty vessels waiting to be filled with what their parents and their society deem important. It’s true that babies aren’t able to do many things – but they aren’t empty. If I look at my children today, at nearly 10 and approaching 13, I can see in them the seeds of who they were as babies.

Jeremiah on his twelfth birthday. We were on our way to lunch.

Maybe it’s because very small children need a lot of care. They need to be changed, fed, carried, cuddled, comforted, helped to know what is safe and how the world works. There are many book, magazines, programs, classes, and products designed to meet these needs…and the insecurities and fears of new parents, maybe far from their own families. Much money is made by preying on parents’ desires to not only do well by their kids, but to give them the advantages that will lead to a “successful life”.

I used to indulge in more of these than I’m comfortable admitting. I bought into the idea that I “owed” my kids all I could afford, and then some.

But over time, I started to notice something. So much of the literature and programming was designed less to help children, and more as a means of manipulating them, steering and pruning them, making them more convenient to live with, and steering them in the directions we want them to go…often, directions that will give their parents something to brag about.

At Lake George, NY, being Just US. Three people. Photo by Jim Burton.

When my children were 7 and 4, my growing unease with this led our family to make a huge shift. We were already homeschooling our oldest, and the lessons I was conducting at the kitchen table were not going as well as I wanted. My son’s spark of curiosity was fading, and household battles were far more common than I wanted.

My kids were my projects, and I was screwing them up.

And so, we stopped.

I gave up the idea that they were projects, and began to learn to see them as….well, as people. Just that. Small, new people with lots to learn – but with the skills and desire to learn it.

It’s been remarkable.

Every day, one or both of my children will do something unexpected, or learn something I never would have thought to teach them. Every day, they become more who they are. And, because my role is as facilitator rather than project manager, I get to see something I might not have, if I were still managing them as projects.

I get to see that they know how to learn, that they’re hard-wired for it. They’re naturals at growing up – they just need support along the way. All that effort and angst and never knowing if I was getting it right, when they were little, was time and energy I could have spent on simply loving and supporting and enjoying them…

Because they are remarkable people. They always have been. There’s no one just like either of them. Each of them is unique, individual. Each of them is learning to become an adult – one moment, one breath, one action at a time.

And, now that I’ve let go of the idea that I need to direct this, I get to do something I like a lot better. I get to just be myself, and enjoy. =)

Girls Night Out, to see Phantom of the Opera with a sweetly silly person.

Have you noticed the “projectifying” of children? Have you seen the people within? Pull up a chair, enjoy your cuppa, and let’s converse!

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